


911 - What is your emergency?

by PrincessOfTheDark (FantasyPrincess)



Series: POI - The Fights of Harold and John [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angry!Reese, Just Desserts, M/M, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyPrincess/pseuds/PrincessOfTheDark
Summary: During the events of “Zero Day” and just before the end of “God Mode,” John and Harold are in a car on their way back to the Library in NYC, having dropped off Root at an asylum.





	911 - What is your emergency?

Reese was quietly driving while Finch sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with something on a laptop.  Reese tried to see what he was doing but, even when he could actually see the screen, it was like reading a roadmap in alien.  Pity they didn’t cover alien in basic.

“So where did the Machine really go, Harold?” he asked, as matter of factly as he was able.

“As I told everyone back at the warehouse, Mr. Reese, I haven’t the slightest idea.”  He was deep in thought and typing quickly.  

Reese squeezed the steering wheel and smacked his lips.  “Come on, Harold, level with me.  You have to know.”

“ _I have to know_ what an _artificial intelligence_ , capable of calculating a _billion billion times_ the normal human brain, _could possibly conceive of as a place to hide_ ,” all this to the windshield before turning to face the other man.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Reese.  It is, regrettably, beyond m comprehension.”  

“You found the most likely places where the government would have hidden the Machine, what’s so different?”

Reese mentally prepared himself for the eyeroll.  “Again, _people_ ,” Finch tapped the keys without pressing them. “I predicted where the _people_ would hide it.  Now the task seems to be finding the omniscient,” he let loose a frustrated little laugh, “which I don’t have to tell you, people have been trying to do long before I built my Machine.”

Reese wanted to relent, Finch was obviously getting worked up, but it would take more than a flick of Finch’s side-eye and the tight adorable smirk to assuage Reese from this fight.  “Fine, fine.  Don’t tell me.”  He smacked his lips again.  

“What has gotten into you, Mr. Reese?” Finch said, shaking his head and screwing up his face.  “I, for one, would like to enjoy retreating with our lives.  I’m … relieved, or as much as I can be, to know that neither the government, nor Root, nor any other …” He was still looking at the laptop when he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side.  “ _Unsavory person_ has control over my creation.”  He gave a little flourish as he typed.  “I think that’s a red letter day.”

“Speaking of Root,” Reese said, speeding up a little.  “When did she pop back into the picture?”

Finch stiffened.  “She…” he stopped and started again.  “I don’t see how that matters.”

“I’d like to know, Harold.  She’s dangerous.  She tortured you.”

Finch’s face had gone slightly apoplectic, before he carefully said, “She didn’t torture me this time.”

“As if that makes it better?”  Reese made an overly sharp turn.  “So, are you saying you trust her now?”

“Uh… no, not exactly.”  Finch had to hold onto his arm rest and the top handle of the door to stay upright.  “She’s been through a lot.”

“Haven’t we all,” and he watched the dawn in Finch’s eyes, as he colored his tone with vinegar instead of honey.  “Did she hold you at gunpoint?”

Finch let out a gasp as Reese ran a red light.  “John, if you could slow down just a little bit that would be -”

“Answer the question, Harold, and I’ll consider it,” he made another sharp turn and couldn’t help but smirk at Finch’s shocked face.  

“No, she didn’t pull a gun,” he said, desperately.  “She… She threatened Grace.”

“Grace,” Reese mumbled.

“Yes, and I don’t have to tell you, that put me in quite the sour mood.  Mr. Reese -” Finch closed the laptop as they hit construction in the road with a divot that sent him bouncing.

“When?  When did she do this?”

“When I met up with Root in Washington Square Park!  Now will you please, Mr. Reese - John, please!”  He was plastered against the passenger door of the car, the laptop closed and clutched to his chest.  

This wasn’t even a blip on Reese’s reckless driving meter, but Finch didn’t need to know that.  He relented, letting out a soft chuckle and went back to the normal speed limit as they merged onto a highway.  

“What,” Finch said, catching his breath and closing his eyes, “could possibly be so funny?”

“So, you went to _meet_ her, did you-” he whispered, the whimsy turning into something cold.  “Wanna hear some music, Finch?” Reese asked, in his regular gravely voice, laughing again.

“No, John I really don’t think -”

Reese touched the radio anyway, adjusting the volume and turning on the MP3 player.

_“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”_

_“Yes, I'd like to report a break-in at the home of Ernest Thornhill by an extremely dangerous man.”_

_..._

Reese let the soft crackle play for a minute, and then turned off the radio again.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Finch had turned to stone.  

“Have you heard that one, Finch?  I think it’s going to be the latest summer hit.”

The stone spoke, barely moving his lips.  “John, I can explain -”  

Reese let a big smile cover his face, as he playfully looked over at Finch.  “Did you really call the cops on me, Harold?” he said, trying to shrug off how much it hurt.  “I thought we were in this together.”

“We are, but I needed to -”  Finch didn’t know how to end the sentence so he didn’t try.  He moved himself back into the passenger seat now that the road wasn’t careening passed him, but he didn’t keep working.  The laptop stayed closed and he placed it into a protective sleeve between the seat and the door.  

Reese wondered if he’d worried, at all, that Shaw or someone else had been listening, and would have sent the recording to his partner when he made the call in the first place.  Whatever the reason, Reese spoke softly, but with intent.  “You don’t trust me, Harold?”

“That’s not it at all, Mr. Reese.”

“Then what?”

“I trust you to carry on and save the people worth saving.  I don’t -”

Reese clenched the steering wheel so hard, Finch could hear the squeaking of the plastic.  “Harold, I swear, if you tell me one more time, about how little you matter, I will turn this car around, and deliver you to Hersh myself!”

Finch was quiet after that. They travelled on in silence for a few miles before Reese finally said, “I just want to know _why,_ Harold?”  The irony of his little driving tantrum was not lost on him, but he wanted an answer anyway.  He signaled and changed lanes, getting off the interstate for New York City proper.  “Why run from _me_?”  

Finch cleared his throat, “I wasn’t running from you…. I didn’t want you to get hurt John.  Not to protect me.  Never that.”

“What is it you hired me to do exactly?”

“Save people.”

Reese let his head lull to the side as he glanced at Finch.  “And you are…?”

He clenched his jaw and shook his head.  “Not at the cost of your life, or Shaw, or Fusco, or Carter.  Or anyone else we help.”

Reese pulled over slowly and carefully.  He came to a complete stop, and shut off the engine. “So the rest of us -”

“Should always come before me.”

Reese put his hands on the wheel and breathed.  He was angry, and frustrated, and wanted to fight about this.  It would all be worth it, if he could convince Finch that he was the most important person in the planet.

But, as he knew from personal experience, that cause was a difficult one to achieve with a subject this stubborn.  Somewhere in his subconscious, he admitted that he could relate.

Instead, he decided to exact revenge for this little indiscretion. Reese didn't know precisely what he planned to do, but let a smile break anyway.  “Ok, Harold, you win.”

Finch had been shrinking into his seat, almost as if he'd expected Reese to shake him. He knew better, of course, but the change in demeanor made him lift his head up out of his turtle shell. “What?”

“You win,” Reese repeated, stuffing down his urge to argue. He made his peace with it, that it was going to be a losing battle, and he had to let it go. “I'm not gonna fight you on this anymore.”

Finch shifted back properly into his seat, and brought himself up a little straighter. “Yes, yes thank you,” he fixed his tie and smoothed his jacket, but his eyes were still wary.  “I'm glad we're clear on that.”

“As crystal,” Reese said, and he ignited the engine again to take them back to the library.

*

At first, Reese thought he would do something to Finch’s dry cleaning, or refuse to walk Bear for a month. He thought about a hundred different ways to make him “suffer” but they all felt like sitcom gags, nothing really spoke to him.  It had to be just the right amount of uncomfortable for Finch, perhaps a little danger, but in the end, make his point without breaking their very trusting relationship.

About a week later, inspiration struck. Reese had a very _very_ fun idea, but he would need to wait for the right moment to implement it. It could work, and it if did, it would do all of the things that he wanted.  

He just had to be patient.

That was ok, he was used to torture.

*

Luckily for him, the moment presented itself just a few short days later, after a pleasant mission that had the both of them giddy.  Saving a literal boatload of people will do that for you.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever...” Finch tried to put it into words, but ended up just shaking his head and grinning like a fool.  

They were walking back to the pier, sand getting on Reese’s shiny shoes.  “That was an amazing thing you did.”

“ _We_ did,” Finch said, still grinning and becoming a little unsteady.  Reese, on instinct, shot out a hand to support his elbow.  Finch leaned on him as they made their way up the steps.

It wasn’t until they were both standing on the pier and Finch seemed to be looking into Reese’s eyes with the lust that he occasionally saw flicker past, that Reese knew this was his moment.  “Harold,” he said, purring and, ever so gently, tugging on him a little.  “We should celebrate.”

“Yes,” Finch said, dreamily.  “We should.”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

Finch blinked at him, a slight shy streak that Reese rarely got to see.  “I’ll be there around six.  Should I bring anything?”

“Not at all, I’ve got everything I need.”

*

Harold was a little looser from the drink, but not drunk.  John was mentally clear on this point.  It was imperative that they not get sloppy tonight.  Besides, it was Harold who poured the drinks, so he obviously knew what he was doing, and it would have tipped his hand if John had insisted they stay sober for the duration of the evening.  

“Dinner was exquisite, John, I had no idea that you knew how to cook,”  Harold was sitting on the comfortable couch, his tie undone and, if John wasn’t mistaken, the top button on his pants unfastened.  

Harold was almost making this too easy.

John fought the blush he felt creep up his neck and instead raised an eyebrow, having just cleared away the last of the dishes and was leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen.  “There’s a lot I can do, Harold, that I’m sure you don’t know about.  There have to be some secrets I can surprise you with.”

Harold smiled at him, with almost complete abandon.  It was an expression John had never seen before.  Something he imagined a much younger Harold probably did a lot more of.  “I can only imagine,” he said, taking another small swig.

John took a deep breath.  “Why imagine, Finch?” he said, coming closer to the couch.  He moved like a stalking predator and let Harold see the calm in his eyes.  “I can show you.  You have but to ask.”  

Harold put down his drink with a quizzical look.

Instead of walking around the couch, John closed the distance between them in a straight line, which meant his journey had him crawling up and leaning over the back of the couch, his body hugging the smooth fabric, to be as close as he possibly could to Harold’s face.  

John had this very moment firmly planted in his mind, too.  Harold would need to close the distance.  He had to.  No sense in taking something he was not prepared to give, that would defeat his purpose.  If Harold didn’t, if he flustered and backed away, John would withdraw.  

Hovering inches in front of Harold’s face, he tried to keep his eyes downcast, or look at Harold’s hair, or the tops of his ears.  Anything to keep from staring him awkwardly in the eyes.  

Eventually, his gaze went to Harold’s mouth, which was, all by itself the sweetest tease he could think to empl - Suddenly, Harold kissed him.  Harold was a great kisser, he thought, absently.  

It was better than John had imagined, and he returned the kiss, but let Harold take the lead.  He was tentative at first, gentle, exploring.  He seemed to be cataloging John’s reactions; finding the moments where he was the most responsive and adjusting, knowing when to open his mouth and guide John to do the same, using his teeth to better the stimulation.

John brought up his hand, holding Harold’s head in place, firmly, as the other man used his tongue to explore John’s mouth.  Eventually, they’d grow out of the angle, but for how he found himself making tiny contented noises.  Harold, in turn, was making the smallest gasps, and with each one, John felt the bottom drop from his stomach and his cock stir.  

Without any other option available to him, he moved himself against the couch, trying not to overwork, but just looking for relief.  Harold must have noticed, because he pulled away from him briefly and smirked.  “I insist that you make yourself more comfortable, Mr. Reese.”

John groaned, giving him one last kiss, a little harder than the small make out session they’d shared, before clambering down off the couch and sitting on his knees, facing Harold.  “Finch, before we … I need some ground rules.”

Harold blinked at him, his expression just barely skimming rejection fallout, but John watched him reason it through.  That wouldn’t make sense, given what they’d just been doing, so he nodded.  “Of course, but only if you call me Harold,” he said, winking.

John smiled.  “Harold.  Done.”  He took a deep breath.   _Here we go_.  “First, if we do anything that you’re not … that’s not turning you on,” he corrected.  “We stop.  Agreed?”

Harold nodded.  “Same goes for you, Mr. Reese.”

John smiled wider.  “Second, nothing I do tonight will hurt you.  No matter what, remember that.  Third ... We can do some more things to get to know one another first if you like, more standard, simple things... But what I want is a little more advanced.  I like teasing, and edging people.”  

Harold’s eyes lit up and he cleared his throat.  John cocked his head to the side and left his face open, expectantly waiting for Harold’s answer to the unasked question, _Will you let me tease you, Harold?_ , but the bead of sweat John saw appear on Harold’s forehead told him most of what he wanted to know.  

“I… umm, yes… that’s…” He started blushing, words failing him, and gave a shaky nod.  “I think I’d rather enjoy that… Quite a lot, Mr. Reese.”  

“Call me John, Harold,” and he winked back.

Harold gave a breathy laugh and pounced, kissing John on the lips and starting to lean on him.  

John enjoyed the kiss, showed Harold that he enjoyed it, but put a hand on his shoulder to gently stop him.  Soon, John was between Harold and one of the arms of the couch, pushed there by the other man’s body weight hovering over him, nearly straddling him and halfway through unbuttoning his shirt.  “One more thing, Harold.”

He licked his lips, leaning on John’s hand.  “And that is…?”

“I’m not Grace.”  

Harold stopped, briefly, then continued unbuttoning.  “I know that,” he said, working quickly, his eyes tense.

John shook his head, looking at him and tried to still the other man.  “Harold, I mean it.  I don’t expect anything from this.  I’m not about to replace her for you; I wouldn’t be so presumptuous.”

Harold looked at him more sternly.  “I _know_ that, John.  I trust you; I want this.”  He finally got to the last button, and undid it slowly.  “This is not the same thing, what I have with you is… different.” he said, touching John’s bare chest, admiring the scars, giving a happy smile as he traced a line down one of John’s abs.  “This _is_ different,” he repeated, eyes going big and dark.  “I think,” he dropped his gaze.  “I think I need this.  You’re not Grace, and I’ve needed _this_ for a long time,” and he let his hands, his practically manicured soft hands, press over Reese’s heart.

With all of that out of the way, John nodded and surged forward, plastering himself to Harold’s body and doing away with his clothing in expert fashion.

*

John had tied Harold’s wrists to his bed posts with silk.  He had showed Harold exactly how to get loose from them, if he needed to, and made him practise a few times before he moved on.  

_“This is to show you, at any moment,” John had told him, “for any reason, you can stop this.  I’m trusting you to know when you need to do that.  I will only be mad if you don’t.”_

_Harold nodded and licked his lips.  “Did you want to blindfold me?” he asked, almost eager._

_John raised his eyebrows  “... Not this time,” he said, giving him a deep kiss.  “But… duly noted.”_

He was dragging more silk over different parts of Harold’s body to get accustomed to his sounds; sounds that were driving him absolutely crazy.  Occasionally, he would graze himself on the bed, or let his hands fall and brush against his hardness.  Harold noticed, he seemed to be getting good at that, and absently moved one of his legs to the edge, letting his foot rest over John’s hard cock, wiggling his toes, tickling just under John’s head in the most sensitive of areas.  

John startled, and leaned forward, bracing himself on the head board.  His breath was too fast and he took several long slow breaths to regain his composure.  “Who’s teasing who, Harold,”  John said, and gave him a little flick of the ribbon, letting it crack, whiplike, over Harold’s skin.  

Harold yelped, but shuddered shortly afterwards, a small grateful smile playing on his lips.

Next was his hands and fingers, grazing, titillating.  John used an oil he kept by the bed for sore muscles, and made his hands warm.  He touched him everywhere, gliding over his arms and legs, gently massaging his stomach, his abs.  Bringing his face very close to him to kiss and lick at his lips while he worked gently at his neck, drawing his hands down his face and into the joints of his shoulders.  He even managed to get in between the bed and Harold’s back to run his nails over his flanks.  “You’re magnificent, really,” he purred, letting his voice take on a lower huskier quality than normal.

He touched him everywhere… except, Harold noted aloud at some point, his swollen cock.  

“John, you missed a spot.”

“I don’t know what your talking about,” John said, working part of Harold’s upper thigh as he glanced up, catching Harold’s eye.  Harold groaned and squirmed.  “Shh, you’re going to hurt yourself,” he smirked and changed to the other thigh, carefully avoiding the erect penis between them.

He wasn’t going to simply touch him because he asked, that would defeat the purpose of the tease, but when the sign showed up, a small whine as Harold’s member bounced towards John’s hand, seemingly of it’s own according, John smiled, surprised, as if it’d done a trick.  “That spot?  I thought I got there already,” he said, moving away from Harold completely.  Harold whimpered, but John touched his cheek lovingly.  “I’m right here.”

Grabbing a subtle lubricant, he came back to the bed.  “There we go,” John said, and began running his hands up and down Harold’s cock.  No stroking, not yet, just promising more if he was well behaved enough.  Harold melted instantly, letting his head fall back into the soft pillows.  

“You are… very good at this,” Harold said, between twitches as John massaged his balls.  He kept giving low groans every few minutes, occasionally picking up his head to try and watch what John was doing.

“Why, thank you Harold, I’ve worked _hard_ to be become so,” and on the word hard, John took both hands and squeezed him, giving him a long slow pulling-jerk up his dick, from hilt to head.

Harold yelped, trying his best to follow his hand up, and practically lifted himself off the bed.  He came crashing back down and grunted with the impact.  He hid his face for a moment and kept whimpering.

John let his eyes fall to Harold’s body, hiding the sudden concern at it’s limitations behind a demure smile.  “You alright?” he said, as if nothing was possibly wrong.

“Do… Do it again,” Harold said, shifting to catch John’s eye, his face squeezing tightly shut and partially hidden behind his arm.  

John did do it again, and smiled happily as Harold’s face opened up in a wide expression of pleasure, and then even wider the third time, sighing and panting.  

Eventually, John felt it was time to put his plan into action.  He moved himself low on the bed, dragging Harold with him a bit.  He made sure he was settled in to rub himself against the edge of the bed if he needed to, and positioned Harold so that John’s arms and face were between the other man’s legs.

He was jerking him in earnest now.  Fast, slow, fast, all the while rubbing himself in his soft cotton sheets.  John was flushed and breathing heavily, but Harold was practically speaking in tongues, especially when John allowed his breath to ghost over him, never quite moving his face close enough for Harold to get the full effect.  He kept evading any attempt Harold made to remedy that.

“Oh, you are so…”  Harold couldn’t finish the thought as another groan took him and John picked up the pace.

“How is it, Harold?”

“Its ... Its good ...” he said, his eyes tightly shut as John used his palm from one hand and fingers from the other to make a soothing massage motion and keep him barely from his mouth.

“Are you close?” he whispered to Harold’s member, licking his lips as he tried to keep from salivating.

“... Yes, yes I am.”  Harold whimpered, nodding, his face twisted up.  

“OK with stopping for a moment?”  

Harold let out a gasp, tensing, but nodded harder and gave a great sigh as John gradually stopped.  Admiring the bead of cum on Harold’s head, a fit of whimsy took him, and he licked it off.  Harold thrust into the air after him, chasing John’s mouth with his cock, and gave a manly laugh, squirming and sighing.  

“Oh, oh god, that’s good, John…”

John kept his face unreadable.  

Harold picked up his head, panting and swallowing convulsively.  He smiled at the other man, the corners faltering a little.  “John?”

“There’s something we need to do before I let you come,” John said.  He got up and walked to the other end of the room, making sure that Harold could see the lines of his body cut a perfect silhouette.  He leaned against the wall and gently stroked himself, with one knee up, the angle exquisite.  

Harold blinked, trying to register what he was talking about.  After a moment or two, he craned his neck up further to get a better look at what John was doing.  His eyebrows raised, “I’m not sure what you’re -”

“I can’t let you finish until it’s done,” John said, looking up at the ceiling, like he was talking about a grocery list.

“You mean, you can’t let me cum yet,” Harold pleaded, shifting a little on the bed.  John kept a close eye on his hands in the restraints.

“Is that what I said?” John asked, jerking himself harder but stealing his gaze to look Harold square in the eye.  “What did I say, Harold?”

“That you’re…”  Harold’s eyes got big.  “You’re not… going to let me come?  But you…”  Harold had to know it was part of the game; it was why he was still in the restraints, because he was going to see where this would go.  “What is it you need to do?”

“Only what you told me to do weeks ago.”

“What?”  Harold was swallowing, trying to get any kind of sensation on his cock, but he was not in the best of positions to do much himself.  John made a note for _next time_ as he watched him try for any kind of purchase.  His hands were still in the restraints.  “John, we only just started - I don’t know what you’re talking about -”

“You told me what I needed to do, don’t you remember?”

“... No?”  Harold’s erection wavered only slightly, but the pleading and need were still in his voice.  His eyes were glassy but slowly focusing, John had to work fast.  The confusion was part of the fun, but he’d only stay this way for so long.

He pushed off the wall, walking towards Harold, as much as a man could while he continued to jerking himself off.  He moved back round to the bed, trailing a finger up Harold’s shoulder, making him shiver.

“You said it, Harold, you told me,” John moved his cock further into Harold’s field of vision, a steady slow jerk, working himself faster.  Harold licked his lips, and swallowed again, almost reflectively.  “I’m just following orders,” he said, the heat from Harold’s hungry gaze and breath almost enough to push him over.  “You told me, practically made me promise,” John said, leaning over the other man, _“We all come before you do!”_

The shoe, finally, dropped with a clatter.  Harold moaned in frustration, but John flitted his eyes to the restraints.  Harold still wasn’t freeing himself.  John watched as he twisted, almost looking like he was struggling with something bigger within him, but John kept his gaze neutral, waiting to see how the war inside would play out.  Eventually, Harold held a breath to let out a barking laugh.  His teeth gritted and he replied, panting, “You are… a terrible person, John Reese.”

John laughed, the confirmation intoxicating, that Harold would still be turned on and stay in the game.  “Where do you want it, Harold?”  John was so close.  He grasped the headboard again.  “Where?”  He jerked himself in long sure strokes, trying to stave off the inevitable.

John was leaning over Harold’s mouth, a fact he didn’t fully realize until he was close enough for Harold to lick at John’s swollen and sensitive head.  John was forced to move even more forward, bracing himself on a knee, his actions almost entirely out of his control as Harold took him into his mouth and sucked hard.  

It was the last reserved shred John had left, and, his other hand on Harold shoulder, he came, shuddering into Harold’s mouth.  

John cried out and did his best not to buck and swear and curse.  He saw stars and still Harold was licking him and swallowing, taking everything John was able to give.  John nearly curled over on himself, but managed to keep it together, if only just.

He gave Harold’s face a warm caress, and moved, still shuddering as he travelled back between the other man’s legs.  Harold had grown sizably, and, judging by his closed eyes and jerking hips, John didn’t think he had very long either.  He wrapped a hand around the base of Harold’s cock, licking him thoroughly, before taking him into his mouth, with long sure strokes.  

Harold was thrusting in earnest now, doing his best to get as deep as he possibly could.  John caressed and rubbed Harold’s balls, making him moan and sigh, but he wasn’t quite close enough to finding release.  Maybe John had overdone it, he fretted slightly.  But it wasn’t about him now, it was about Harold.  It was the moment to pay Harold back in kind for everything he’d done for him.

John groaned, with Harold in his mouth, making him practically leap off the bed, as he realized what could help… It wasn’t something he often did, but he figured Harold trusted him enough, especially now.  

He stealthily wet his finger, and gently pushed it along the crevasse between Harold’s legs, further and further back with each thrust.  Harold became eager in his mouth, feeling what John was getting at.  John didn’t work to insert anything, he didn’t pretend to be so bold on the first go, but merely rubbed and circled, knocking at the door.  

That was it, all it took, and Harold came shouting and yelping, removing his hands from the restraints to press down on John’s head gently but urgently, as he spent himself into John's mouth.  John smiled around his cock as the aftershocks kept coming.  He made sure to lick and suck him, as well as Harold had done for him, better he hoped.  

Harold finally stilled, and John didn’t stop licking him until Harold pawed at him urgently to come further up next to him.  

John smiled, rather pleased with himself, coming up to meet him and let Harold curl around his body.  They entangled themselves up in each other and drowsily let their hands roam.  Harold was looking at John with eyes that showed John so much; love, wonder, appreciation, respect, before turning mischievous.  “Was all this, just a cunning plan to make me … admit something?”  Harold groaned, his face getting that shy look again.

John shrugged, looking innocent.  “Not _all_ of it, no.”

Harold settled close to John.  “You are the most terrible, most lovely person I know.”  Harold gave a harrumph sound as John seemed to burrowed even closer to him, and kissed his exposed ear.  “Ya know, if you wanted to _come first_ , all you had to do was ask.”  

“Oh, is that so?” Reese said, muffled into Harold’s neck, and started tickling him.  Harold did his best to brave the onslaught.  “As long as you know,” he said with every poke and wiggle, “That you can come whenever you like.”  

John was very good at tickling and, though Harold grunted and tried to fend him off, soon, the two of them were laughing.  Harold eventually cried uncle and the two of them slept.


End file.
